Michael Jackson Imagines

The Dance

You were surrounded by a crowd of rowdy teenagers, feeling totally alone. Obnoxious music, which consisted mostly of pounding bass and repetitive lyrics, erupted from two enormous speakers nearby. This club never plays anything decent, you thought, sitting at a table in a far-off, shadowy corner of the room, watching your peers dance like fools. You tried to keep busy; you ran your hands through your (h/c) hair and played with the ribbons on your pretty (f/c) party dress. Your head ached terribly and you were wishing you had some Advil when something caught your eye. Your boyfriend Alexander was elbowing his way across the dance floor, trying his best not to spill the two cups of soda he held in his hands. Quickly, you stood up from the table and went to meet him.

"You better enjoy that soda. I went through Hell to bring it to you," he said, handing you one of the cups. You took an awkward sip. The soda was unbearably flat and quite warm, but you decided it was best not to mention it. Just then, Alexander saw one of his buddies in the crowd and smiled coolly, waving to the boy. "How's it going, Josh?" he called. He turned to you and said, "I'll be right back, (y/n). Wait here. Don't go anywhere," he ordered, and then he vanished into the crowd.

And just like that, you were alone once more. It seemed like waiting for Alexander was all you ever did, but he never asked you to dance. Hell, he barely paid any attention to you at all. He might as well put me on a leash and tie me to a table or something, you thought to yourself, frustrated. If he's so paranoid about me hanging out with other guys, why does he invite me to these dances anyway?

Breathing a heavy sigh, you wandered back to your vacant table in the corner, far away from all the people who were undoubtedly having a better time than you were. You eased yourself into a chair and swirled your nasty store-brand refreshment around in your cup, trying to remember why you chose to come in the first place. You had known the night would end like this, with you sitting by yourself as Alexander had a blast with his friends. You observed the happenings of the dance from a distance. Why do I always end up being the outcast?  The question echoed in your mind and a tear trickled down your cheek.

Suddenly, a voice spoke behind you.

"Is this seat taken?"

You recognized the sweet falsetto voice immediately. You spun around and smiled for the first time that night. You tried to wipe the tears from your face without him noticing.

"Michael! What are you doing here?" you said, frantically searching for any sign of Alexander as you greeted him. If he ever saw Michael talking to you, he would explode. Michael sat down next to you, grinning shyly. He was dressed in a crisp, white button-down shirt and one of his gorgeous, black military jackets. He was easily the best-dressed guy in the whole club, and you felt your face burn at the sight of him.

"I just wanted to check on you," he said warmly. "I knew you weren't too excited about this dance." Michael's grin disappeared. He stared at you with concerned, dark brown eyes. "You've been crying," he said quietly.

You stared down at your lap. "Yeah, a bit."

Michael leaned closer to you, his eyes wide with worry. "What happened?" He gently placed his hand on top of yours and squeezed it affectionately.

You yanked your hand away and scanned the room for  Alexander. "Not here, Michael," you pleaded. "Not now. We'll both be in trouble if my boyfriend sees you talking to me. You know how he gets."

Michael retracted his hand, looking a bit hurt. He leaned back in his chair and rolled his eyes. "So that jerk expects you to sit in a corner by yourself and keep quiet while he enjoys himself?"